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Demon seed. He pulls this deliberately to get a rise out of me. Both of us headstrong and stubborn, each having to get the last word. We're like two yappy dogs in a yard freaking out over the distant sound of air conditioning units switching on. We yell without knowing exactly what we're yelling about, only that the air hangs heavy with a feeling that makes us both uncomfortable until we feel the need to voice that discomfort. Maybe we're both looking for a little attention and a few scratches behind the ears. If we can't get that, fighting is better than nothing. Still, it was worse when we were actually married to each other.
I swear there are still treadmarks on my thighs from where he kicked me. Over and over and over. Funny, I can't even remember the brand he wore. I don't think I cared much at the time. I just sat on the floor, trying to hold in any urge to yell out or shed a tear. On the other hand, my lip and cheek have healed all right. Some people just don't scar, so I guess I'm one of the lucky ones. No lines to run my fingers over and think back on fondly, or at least nothing to serve as a future reminder to hunt down the dirty dog, at the conclusion I will warn him of his impending doom before we engage in one last battle.
In case you missed it, I used the word fondly there with the utmost sarcasm. Of all the black eyes and various bruises, gashes, broken bones, and stitches I've received, I can't think back to one that would make me go, "Ahhh, yes. That was a great head-bashing." I understand that there are people that covet that kind of thing, and that's great. Whatever floats your boat. Anything's better than fuzzy handcuffs and candlewax. But until you've had something like having your nose broken with a fist, think about what you're asking for. It's an insult to my sinus cavities. If you've been there, then consider me a comrade in arms.
Lest ye think of me as a victim in all this, stop. Stop right now, and be ashamed of yourself for going there. Because everytime I got it, I gave it back a hundredfold. Taking my size in account, I'd say we were about an equal match. Did I enjoy it? Well, the jury is still out and it looks like they're ordering dinner. But I have to say, there's a part of me that needed it. A part that needed to get out whatever emotions I had dammed up over time. A part that needed the rush of adrenaline to feel alive when alternately drugs and exercise failed to provide the thrills they promised. And a part that needed the hightened sensation of a soft caress over a raised area of skin. But no, none of it made me orgasm. That occasionally came afterwards, but mostly I was too busy searching for the iodine.
Right now, I'm living in anxious times. The tour's over, and I now have a month to wait until the album comes out. If there is any mercy in the world, a mini tour can be arranged. As a result of my downtime, my poor shithead ex-husband has to put up with me. Despite the fact that living together was like trying to fit two postive battery cables into the same spot, we always remained close, especially after our divorce. Still, I'm amazed he puts up with me as much as he does. Perhaps he needs it as much as I do. What more could you ask for in a best friend?
We should all give him thanks, in fact. He's what makes me the calm, rational, well-adjusted young lady you see before you. *twitch*
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Saturday, July 24th, 2004
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Yes, hello. Would it be too much trouble to take off the Six Flags commercial with the phony-looking creepy old guy who lures young men away from their duties with his infectious dancing already? And may I ask, what the hell is that supposed to be about, anyway? Hmm, scary old guy/amusement parks. Not seeing the marketing appeal here.
And another thing, please dislodge that music from my head. I've had enough epileptic dancing seizures because of it.
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Kid, you're going out there an indie-type film actress, but you're coming back a stah! Well, hot damn, what do you know. I think they liked us.
We did it. There was never a time I thought we couldn't, but I'm a little taken aback by how well we did it. I'm not braggin, dragon. we gave everything we had for that tour. You see, I baptized Dallas with droplets of blood, annointed Houston with saliva, went down on Las Cruzes and raped the shit out of Fresno. But everyone got it all. Every ounce.
Not to mention there enough knots of hair, pieces of bone and strips of skin left scattered across the desert for several Juliette voodoo dolls. Bruises and abrasions happened and were subsequently treated with a concoction of spit and dust. I think I'm permanently coated with dust. By the end of the tour, I could convert my panties into mini potato farms.
The reviews weren't too bad either. Bordering on great. That one was my favorite. Eh, open up a couple more veins and I'll be a legend. The comparisons with Iggy and Janis are flattering, but the best was seeing myself called Karen O with a snarl. I couldn't do it without the rest of the band. Patty Schemel continues to rock my arse. She out Tommy Lees Tommy Lee.
If you're interested in a sample, have a taste of this.
And would you look at this, why don't you. ( Read more... )
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Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004
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Countdown. Nearly time to brush the glitter of this two-gigabit town off my feet and see what this crazy world and I can offer one another. The modern version of a hairshirt, it can make you itch enough to claw the flesh from your arms, neck and chest; most of us not even knowing we're punishing ourselves because there's comfort in the artificial security we've built around us like a sofa cushion fort. I'm one to talk, aren't I? But the toys are packed away for now. Raw bone laced with sinewy muscle is all I have to offer.
Thirty was great, but that was so last year. Just for the moment, I feel old and ugly. But Keith Richards old and ugly, and I can use that. Screw you, if you can't appreciate the beauty of a 3000 year-old corpse. She doesn't appreciate you either.
The highlight of my was birthday spent dropping sundry items into a reddish-orangish shopping cart. There's something not quite right about getting excited over travel-sized shave gel, collapsable hairbrushes, or the wide variety of flavors you can find in mini tubes of toothpaste, but you take the little pleasures where you can get them. And there I was, grabbing the closest customer to me in the aisle to give witness to the wonders clear ponytail holders.
Someone told me to buy lots of socks and underwear. Without asking wherefore, I hoarded multi-colored packs of each, reminding myself of the times I decided I wasn't into doing laundry and bought new panties when I ran out clean ones. Swinging a wide left, I ventured down the candy aisle, stocking up on boxes of Raisinettes and Sour Patch Kids, all the while having rationalizing arguments with myself over their miraculous, but scientifically untested, energy-boosting abilities.
Oh yes, I'm in a snit, loving that snit I'm in. I expected tizzy by now, and I'm somewhat pleased to see that isn't the case, so there's still an ounce of sweetness and light packed away in here, although it might be in my makeup case now. There's nothing more to do but sit on my suitcase and wait for the circus to come and pick me up.
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Thursday, June 17th, 2004
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| Time: | 3:39 pm. |
| Mood: | punker than thou. | | Music: | Cheap Trick - Dream Police. |
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There I was, standing in line at the bank earlier today, when all of a sudden I felt a sharp but only slightly irritating pain on my ankle. Thinking I was being attacked by fire ants in the middle of my morning errands, I quickly reached down and lifted the hem of my pants to swat the little bugger away. When I looked down, I saw that what I thought to be a deadly killer insect, was in fact a piece of a scab that had managed to attach itself to my hem. As the line suddenly lurched forward, I quickly pulled off the rest of the scab, which protested its unwillingness to go by gushing out such an amount of blood, it made my ankle look like a punctured packet of McDonald's ketchup.
As it started to flow onto my shoe, there wasn't much I could do. I rummaged in my bag for a tissue or anything to stop the bleeding. All I could find were a few receipts, gum, an elastic ponytail band, and a Kotex maxi pad. And, no, there was no way in hell I was giving up my spot in line to run to the ladies room--which you can never find in banks anyway. In fact, I don't think banks have them at all because as a customer, they want to see you and know where you are at any given time or, god forbid you should hide out in one of the stalls, McGuyvering a homemade gun out of toilet paper and tampons. Anyway, I did the only thing possible at that moment, and McGuyvered myself a tourniquet out of the elastic band and...yeah, after which I stepped defiantly up to the teller and boldy announced that I'd like to make a deposit.
Of course I looked like an idiot. But it was rock 'n' roll, so I think I was able to pull it off okay. Just put on a little fuck-you attitude and you can get away with being the biggest dork in the world, and people will still think you're cool.
Speaking of rock 'n' roll, I have this band called Juliette and the Licks. Now, I never claimed to be a singer, nor did I get bored one day and decide to turn all Keanu Reeves/Russel Crow/Kevin Bacon/Eddie Murphy/Don Johnson...anyway. It just happened that one night I was at a club and decided to check my sense of decorum at the door. Something I used to do quite a bit when I was younger, but not so much since I quit doing drugs. Now I tend to keep decorum wrapped around my waist even out on the dance floor. But this night was different, and I guess someone heard me singing along to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts at the top of my lungs. The next thing I know, I'm writhing around on stage with a member of Hole and getting calls from Prodigy.
And now, it seems I'm getting ready to go on Vans Warped Tour. On Friday 25, we hit Houston, TX. Be there or be square.
Was that the longest pimp post in history?
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The night nurse is on duty. Bedizen like a cross between a two-dollar whore and a trapeze artist, she's not here to soothe your fragile egos, but to medicate your minds. She has what you need, whether administered intravenously or shoved straight down your throat. No amount of sugar will make it go down any easier.
But that's what you want, or you wouldn't be here, right? Then don't be afraid, it only stings for a moment.
( just to make sure where on the same page )
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